Through the Night We Cruise
by Fading wind
Summary: Down in the archives, Ianto discovers an unidentifiable but supposedly harmless piece of alien tech. Jack/Ianto, some Ianto/Lisa & Gwen/Rhys


Title: Through the Night We Cruise  
Pairing: Jack/Ianto, (Ianto/Lisa, Gwen/Rhys)  
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: Up to Exit Wounds, although there might be references to The Dead Line.  
Word Count: 5,755  
Summary: Down in the archives, Ianto discovers an unidentifiable but supposedly harmless piece of alien tech.  
Author's Notes: Partly inspired by The Dead Line, but I'd wanted to write this fic for ages before. The last scene takes place after The Dead Line, but I'm sort of placing The Dead Line only a month or so after Exit Wounds for this to work.

**Through the Night We Cruise**

Ianto is down in the archives, checking the records for items that came through the Rift during the years when Torchwood Three was merely Jack. Jack had been somewhat lazy with the cataloguing, but Ianto supposes he's not to be blamed. Ianto knows from looking through files that Jack was alone for at least three years before finding Suzie. Three years is a long time for someone to manage the Cardiff rift on their own.

So Ianto decides that it's up to him to make sure the records are complete. He's looking in the drawers for objects that were only ever assigned a number and a date, when his fingers carelessly brush past something that sends a jolt of electrical-like energy up his arm in thin white sparks. He blinks and feels the faint beginning of a throb building at the back of his head. A dull grey cube lies there innocently, its surfaces smooth, unmarked. There is no protective casing or warning label. He thumbs through the handful of papers he's holding and there, that's the right entry:

"24/08/01 - 11.25am - Gray cube, measuring 56mm on all sides. Purpose and origin unknown (possibly of Maiveyd make, judging by the material). Scanned and deemed harmless. Flashed red initially, but deactivated by wrist strap (CJH)."

Ianto frowns. Deactivated and harmless. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together curiously. The headache is mild, and there's only a tiny tingling feeling, perhaps imaginary, lingering where his skin touched the cube. When he places a finger on the cube again, lightly, tentatively, nothing happens. He'll go up and ask Owen to just make sure he's all right later. But he's certain that there's nothing to worry about. And if he drops dead in ten minutes, then... well. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

_Lisa_, he thinks briefly, murmurs her name noiselessly to the dimly-lit room, the chilling ghosts of other worlds and past lives hiding in boxes and drawers, echoing his fears, reminding him of his priorities.

He drops everything he's doing and goes up.

* * *

Owen declares him absolutely fine, what the bloody hell was that all about. Ianto sits up on the bed whilst Owen puts away the scanning equipment, and provides a vague explanation of strange artefacts down the archives. Jack, leaning against the white brick wall and looking down at the medical bay, having observed the whole procedure, flashes Ianto a look of concern.

"You should be more careful. There are too many things that can't be identified. You never know what you might run into," he warns. "Are you sure you wanna keep working down there on your own?"

"Yes," Ianto replies, looking straight into Jack's eyes and letting his lips curve into a small, reassuring smile. "You're all busy dealing with the rift, and I'd like to be of more use than just the coffee machine, sir." A pause, and then he adds, "Please."

Jack smiles back, seemingly content with Ianto's answer. "Well. You're the only one who knows how to really work it," he says, a gleam in his eyes. "The coffee machine, I mean."

Ianto is still holding Jack's gaze, and there are strange words at the tip of his tongue, making his throat close in, hot, but he restrains himself. "I do my best," he says. Standard reply. Always the right thing to say.

Jack appears to freeze for a moment, something hesitant about the quirk of his mouth, and then he says, "You're doing brilliantly. Keep it up." And then he's gone, and Ianto slides off the bed and mutters thanks to Owen.

Barely a minute later, the rift alarm sounds and everyone's grabbing coats and kit and rushing out of the Hub. When the cog door has rolled back into place and the Hub is silent, Ianto goes down to the sublevels, his shoes making successive, solid, pattering noises on the stone steps. At a fork in a particular corridor, he takes the left path, not the right one which leads to various parts of the archives. And more steps, leading deep down into more secrets, darker, personal ones laced with haunting memories of plastic sheets and the weight of a half-metallic but still warm body in his arms, screaming hoarsely into his chest.

He arrives at the end, faced with the heavy wooden door before him. He slips a hand into the pocket of his suit jacket and closes around the key. This happens everytime, he thinks. Everytime he stands here, he feels like he is being forced to make a choice. And everytime, he chooses the same thing. Over and over again. But the choice is still there.

He unlocks and unbolts the door and enters the storeroom, as quietly as possible. Lisa should be asleep. He pulls up a stool to the frame around her body, and sits down, watches her. She is still beautiful, still _his_, after all this time. He won't give up. Surely, as she takes in peaceful, even breaths, she must be dreaming of their future together. When she becomes fully human again. He smiles to himself, and wraps one hand around Lisa's fingers.

_The images are blurry, indistinct, swimming around in her mind, a mass of colours and shapes, but she can make out, through the outline and shades, streets lined neatly with Cybermen, all identical, all perfect. Upgraded. In the background there are screams and blood and the whirring of machinery, but that is all it takes to remove imperfection. Only a small price to pay. Beauty is in the indestructible metal. No more easily damaged flesh. This world is truly flawless._

Ianto jerks his hand away, and then he stares down at his palm, confused. Inside, he feels wild panic and insecurity churning in the bottom of his stomach, but he doesn't know why. He steadies himself by gripping the bedside table, and anchors himself in the photograph of him and Lisa, before everything, their glossy, sunshine smiles reflecting the dark shadow of his face. And calms, after a moment or two.

"Ianto?" Lisa's voice calls. Human and warm, with that slight edge of pain.

"I'm here," Ianto replies, turning around and getting up, surging forward to press an eager kiss onto her welcoming lips. She grimaces a little when he pulls away but smiles at him weakly, as best as she can, and all he can do is smile back, wide, because it's _Lisa_. "You need to take your medication. Did you sleep well?"

Lisa nods, a barely noticeable movement.

And then Ianto finds himself blurting, "Did you dream?" He doesn't know where the question came from, but it burned and slipped past his lips.

Lisa looks at him, and Ianto thinks he sees something glimmering in her eyes. _Tears?_ he wonders, startled, worrying that he's said the wrong thing, but then it's gone and Lisa's smiling again. "Yes. I dreamt about you," she says.

Ianto believes her, because there's no reason not to, and he's so pleased his heart almost aches.

* * *

Ianto comes with a soft cry into Jack's hand, and then he's breathing raggedly against Jack's chest until everything stills, and then he's thinking about Lisa, and he has to stop a groan from escaping as the guilt creeps up his spine, freezing cold, leaving no room for hazy bliss as his vision sharpens rapidly. He rolls off Jack and tries to look at the wall, study the cracks in the brickwork, but Jack catches his chin and turns him back for a kiss.

"Sir," he says, breaking away.

"You sleeping here?" Jack asks.

Ianto looks around, swallows uneasily at the loneliness and harshness of this suffocating environment, and he really questions Jack's sanity for sleeping in here alone every night. The camp bed is narrow and not very comfortable, but Ianto supposes that he's used to worse. He forces himself to look at Jack again, at the sheen of sweat on Jack's forehead, at his curious eyes, at the cleft of his chin, and he contemplates how the hell he ended up here. How, when he inhales, Jack's scent makes his head spin and arousal stir deep within him. How he gave in to his desires. How he will be able to face Lisa tomorrow.

"With you?" he gathers the courage to ask, and he's completely lost as to whether he cares about what the answer will be.

Jack studies him quietly for a while, and Ianto is careful to let nothing show on his face, even though all he can think about is Lisa rusting away in the depths of the Hub, and he achingly remembers sucking one of her nipples gently while he rubs her clit in slow, circular motions. "I don't sleep," Jack says, very seriously, and Ianto is brought back to here, right now. He's just a little surprised, and he's not quite sure whether to believe Jack or not. But it doesn't matter. Jack is withdrawing, pulling on his undershirt.

Ianto doesn't say anything, just watches Jack finish buckling his trousers and climb up the ladder. And Jack doesn't say anything either, just disappears out of sight into his office.

It takes a long time for Ianto to fall asleep on the damp sheets.

* * *

"You shouldn't be here."

Ianto's startled, but not badly. He knows that Jack lives here, but sometimes he forgets. Because recently, it always feels like he's alone, no matter where he is, even when Gwen is talking to him in comforting tones or Owen is making a cruel joke about him or Tosh is explaining with her precise, technical terms about the technology behind the latest mystery they have to solve. Even when Jack is right in front of him, like he is now.

"Neither should you," he replies quietly, looks at Jack for a moment too long, and hurriedly returns to his work station, where he's just discovering something strange in the weather data.

And then Jack's hand is on Ianto's shoulder.

_His soldiers, laughing and chatting in rough voices. He's almost proud of them. The train is rattling along. And everything goes dark. Tunnel. A horrible chill, supernatural whispers like breezes raising goosebumps on his skin. When they're out and sunshine is falling in through the small window once more, there is no more laughter. No more voices. He's so cold. Limp bodies, sprawled on seats. Sharp, bright red in everyone's mouths. Not blood. No._

He turns around swiftly, glances at Jack's hand. It looks unfamiliar somehow, broad and warm even through the material of Ianto's clothing. "What have you got?" Jack's voice. Strong. Clear. Ianto breathes.

He gets a funny feeling that something strange has just happened, aside from the fact that Jack's really touching him, so deliberately, for the first time since... _since_, but he mentally shakes himself and tries very hard to focus on the screen, at the data and maps. "Funny sort of weather patterns," he says.

* * *

When they start having sex with each other again, _after_, after Suzie, they still don't sleep together. Jack keeps claiming that he doesn't sleep, but Ianto definitely doesn't believe him now. He's caught Jack stealing a quick nap in his office in between moments of frenzied work. And sometimes at night, when Ianto's working late, he goes into Jack's office to consult something and Jack's not there, and the door to Jack's cubby hole is shut. And Ianto just _knows_ he's down here and not anywhere else.

Ianto doesn't mind that Jack lies to him about things like this, because Ianto's lied about bigger things. And they don't owe it to each other to tell the truth about little things at all. Jack has his reasons. Ianto believes this at least.

* * *

One night, in the months when Jack's gone, Ianto sees Gwen fast asleep on the sofa. He stops for a moment. Owen is working on the autopsy of a centaur-like creature about half the size of himself in the medical bay, and Tosh is designing a website for their cover story for something they'll have to do tomorrow. They've all been busy for days, the rift alarm going off almost every time they pause to catch their breath, and sleep is rare. The sight of Gwen's relaxed profile makes Ianto sigh with envy, and he puts down the files he's holding and takes the blanket from a nearby cupboard, draping it over Gwen to keep her from the slight chill. Ianto's hand brushes against the bare rise of Gwen's collarbone where the cut of her top dips as he's trying to pull the blanket up to Gwen's chin, and-

_She's crying over Jack's cold, dead body in the morgue and then somehow, she's back in her flat with Rhys, and Rhys is touching her where she needs to be touched, and as she moans into wet kisses when Rhys thrusts inside her, she hears a faint _vworp-vworp_ sound, and she halts, pulls away, stares outside the window, where the CCTV image that they'd captured of the TARDIS standing on the Plass glares straight into her face, and there's Jack, running towards it. And she's screaming his name, and then the TARDIS melts out of sight, taking Jack with it, and Rhys draws the curtains abruptly so that the miserable picture is gone. "Gwen, I'm here," he says. And he's holding her tight, whispering sweetly, and she lets herself be held, lets Rhys make her feel beautiful and loved._

Ianto lifts his hand off the blanket, off Gwen. She moves a little, smiles in her sleep, and Ianto is momentarily comforted, as if he's just had some rest himself. And maybe a good dream. He lingers on the thought, entertaining a brief fantasy of the cog door rolling back and Jack standing there, greatcoat billowing in nonexistent wind. Then Tosh calls his name and his smile slips off his face. He picks up his files and goes back to work, always soldiering on.

* * *

"Jack," Ianto says, mouth dry, as Jack's fingernail grazes his nipple. He arches his body perfectly to Jack's delicate touch, Jack's hands sweeping down the length of his torso, wanting more, more heat, more friction, and sighs when his cock rubs against the inside of Jack's thigh. Jack shifts a little, and the delicious heat is gone. "Jack," Ianto says again. "Give me-"

"Give you what?" Jack asks, just the right amount of teasing and his hands on Ianto's thighs, fingers dancing lightly on the skin.

"Anything," Ianto says, not quite managing coherent thought. "Touch me."

"You want me to suck your cock?" Jack asks, smiling, wrapping one hand around Ianto's cock promisingly and just applying a little pressure. Ianto shudders, but there's something at the back of his mind, preventing him from really feeling this. And Ianto blinks at Jack's body, naked above him, flawless unlike his own, no scars telling of the terror behind all those years of life or anything that happened during the time when Jack was lost to him.

"No," Ianto says, determined, and with one strong push against Jack's chest, they've flipped over and Ianto's on top. Jack makes a surprised noise and is about to speak when Ianto puts a finger over Jack's lips, keeping him silent. "Let me." And Ianto skims down until his mouth is level with Jack's erection. He exhales, blowing air on the tip, and then he lowers his head and takes Jack's cock into his mouth, relishing the taste and the hardness of it on his tongue. Jack moans low, a new, raw, unrestrained noise that Ianto swears he's never heard before, not in the many times that he's done this to Jack.

"It's been a while," he hears Jack say distantly, and Ianto has to agree, except he knows that he has _no idea_ how long it's been for Jack. Something dull aches in his chest, and he drags his tongue along the underside of Jack's cock, drawing more noises from Jack. "Oh, Ianto, I need- Ianto, fuck me." Ianto shivers at the words, and he sits up for a moment to find the lube in Jack's bedside drawer. He slicks his fingers with it and his cock with it, half quivering in anticipation, and then he goes back to sucking Jack's cock, while slipping his hand in, under his jaw, so that he can stroke Jack's balls briefly, rolling them in his cupped palm, and so that he'll be able to slide his fingers inside Jack. Jack spreads his legs more and murmurs Ianto's name when Ianto presses one finger inside him, working it slowly past the first ring of muscle.

"Open up for me, Jack," Ianto says, lifting his head to look at Jack's face. Jack moans again, and Ianto has to resist grinding his cock down into the mattress at the power of that wicked sound and Jack's beautiful expression, cheeks flushed and eyes closed, mouth open wide. Ianto thrusts another finger in. Jack hisses.

"Ianto, I'm okay," he says.

"Jack," Ianto breathes. "You're-" _You're so beautiful, you're all mine,_ he wants to say, but words are difficult and _Jack_, Jack is spread wide for him, panting, waiting. Ianto pulls his fingers out and moves into a more comfortable position before pushing inside Jack, and the heat and tightness around him, missed for so long, wrenches a low cry from Ianto's throat. He's aware of Jack's breaths, coming short, and he kisses Jack messily before pulling out a little and thrusting back in. He's got one hand firm around Jack's cock, squeezing to bring Jack closer to the edge as he pounds into him, knowing from the way Jack swears that he's doing something right, there, aiming for his prostate every time.

"Ianto, shit, I'm-" Jack begins, and then has to pause to catch his breath when Ianto shifts and changes angle slightly, "- not gonna last." From here Ianto can look into Jack's darkening eyes, appreciate his lips, swollen red from brutal kisses. "It's been so long," Jack murmurs, and that longing note in his voice drives Ianto mad with the implication of so many secrets, so much unknown pain.

"Come for me, Jack," Ianto says, quickening his strokes and smoothing his thumb over the tip of Jack's cock. "I want to hear you say my name. You need this, don't you?" His mouth right by Jack's ear, his tongue reaching out to lap at Jack's earlobe and the skin just below. "Please."

And Ianto sends Jack right over the edge, the height of pleasure rushing through Jack while Ianto's hand is still pumping his cock hard and fast, blanking all thoughts from his mind as he says Ianto's name over and over in half-sobs of relief, of knowing this again, of coming home.

The knowledge that this is Jack finding release since god knows when, the feeling of Jack's come spurting hot onto his chest and the sight of it dripping back down onto Jack, the sound of Jack calling his name- everything makes Ianto's world tremble and then still in perfect clarity as he comes, deep into Jack. And Jack's arse tightens maddeningly around his cock, and the sudden pressure draws Jack's name out of him in a gasp and makes him come harder still until he's completely spent and has to pull out carefully. He kisses Jack carelessly, tongue leaving wet trails at the corner of Jack's mouth and all the way down his neck, and Jack laughs under him, such a clear, perfect, sincere sound that makes Ianto want to cry, because even though he doesn't _know_, he can tell that really, honestly, it's been far too long for Jack.

And then, for the first time, Ianto finds himself drifting off to sleep on the narrow bed in Jack's cubby with his arm around Jack's waist, his nose in the crook of Jack's neck, his lips barely brushing Jack's shoulder, something so luxurious and comforting that he has never thought Jack would allow. Ianto thinks he can hear Jack sigh with the pleasure of this first, but somewhere along this blurs into dreams of taunts and blowfish and the terrible, solid weight of a gun in his hand, responsibility and power beyond his imagination. His subconscious ponders the possibilities of what could have happened if Jack had never returned, human blood splattering onto curtains, and it would be his fault, all his fault, and he's standing in the middle of the room with the rest of the team surrounding him, staring at him, ignoring him, whispering about him.

Then one dream fades into another and he isn't himself anymore. He feels heavier. There are metal spheres in the sky speaking in the hollow voices of children, and endless, cruel laughter. And suddenly he is acutely aware of the pain. There are ropes cutting deep into his wrists, and he is only just breathing, only just holding on. Except he doesn't really want to hold on. It would be better just to let go. He can feel blood gushing out of fresh wounds and his head is spinning and his skin is cold and damp and smeared with dirt and dried blood. Somewhere he thinks there must be an end to all of this, but he's too dizzy to really hope or believe.

The scraping images of despair rush out of his head the moment he opens his eyes to Jack, still asleep next to him. They'd left the bedside light on. He sits up, leans over for the switch. But Jack's eyes fly open wide only a heartbeat later, and his mouth forms the roundness of a scream not yet realised. Ianto grabs Jack's hand, grips it tight, and Jack's eyes dart around, frantic, until Ianto's hold on him drags him back down, grounds him to safety.

"Ianto," Jack says, his voice low, desperate. He reaches up with his free hand to touch Ianto's cheek, to run his fingers through Ianto's hair. His hand is shaking from the obvious remnants of a nightmare. Ianto lets him, squeezing Jack's other hand in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. He cannot quite believe that he's seeing Jack like this, vulnerable and shaken, haunted by the burden of two hundred years of life and death.

"Did you sleep well?" Jack asks, after a while, his hand cupped under Ianto's jaw. His smile is weary, but still soft and fond with innate charm.

Ianto blinks, and for a split second he sees a picture of the cold spheres, a fiery afterimage behind his eyelids. Then it's gone, and he doesn't remember any of his dreams at all, so he says, "Yes." And it's not a lie.

"Good," Jack says, laughing warmly. "That's good. I'm glad you did." His arm snakes round Ianto's back to pull him back down to bed. Ianto falls willingly, and Jack presses kisses onto Ianto's chest, his way of coming back to reality: losing himself in the reassuring heat of Ianto's body once more.

* * *

Ianto is awake at three in the morning, sitting against his propped-up pillow, watching Jack sleep, the even rise and fall of Jack's chest in a calming rhythm. It's not the first time he's done this, and he still marvels at how intimate this is, how uncommon and dear that Jack has let him witness this silent peace. He often wonders what Jack dreams about. Jack has the occasional nightmare, but really, Ianto is surprised. Most of the time, Jack is smiling in his sleep, and Ianto thinks of faraway galaxies and past lovers that are always dancing in Jack's mind, always leaping to life in Jack's amusing stories. Jack must always have something beautiful to dream about.

And Ianto almost doesn't dare hope that Jack is dreaming about him, because, because... that would be too much to ask for. He has this, now; he owns so many of Jack's waking moments, and he doesn't need to be so possessive as to desire Jack's dreams. But he does, anyway, because those smiles on Jack's face are too gorgeous, too tender and enamoured, and he wishes that some of them would belong to him.

He feels sleep gradually overtaking him again, and he lies back down, flat, putting one hand lightly on Jack's arm, and...

_They're sitting on a rooftop together and he points at one of the stars in the distance. "Well, somewhere there is Fanviei," he says to Ianto. "I'd like to take you there someday, it's beautiful." And Ianto looks at him._

_"You can take me there now, Jack," Ianto's saying, and then the world spins and they're there all of a sudden, right there, Jack laces their fingers together and leisurely kisses Ianto soft on his lips, with the roar of waterfalls close by as they sit in the heat of two suns, and there's silky sand, white like snow, molding around their feet. And then Jack pushes Ianto down onto the sand, and Jack can tell that Ianto is pleasantly surprised to find that the sand doesn't cling to his skin at all, unlike that back at home. Ianto cups a handful of sand and watch it filter through the gaps in his fingers in fascination. There's not even a single white speck left on his hand._

_"Makes for better and more comfortable beach sex," Jack says, grinning at him. "No sand sticking to inappropriate places." And then they're kissing again, and Jack's hand is sneaking up underneath Ianto's shirt, toying with his nipple, and Ianto moans, shamelessly, into Jack's mouth, arching his hips up to grind against Jack._

When Ianto wakes up, it is to Jack's morning kisses, fluttering along his jawline, and he feels oddly pleased and satisfied, not as a direct result of Jack's affectionate method of waking him up, but... something else. It must have been a dream. Fleetingly he wishes he was better at remembering his dreams, but then he curls one hand round Jack's and they exchange wet, open-mouthed kisses, and Ianto knows, instinctively, that today will be a good day.

* * *

In his dreams, he is not breathing. He dreams of dying in his dreams. Someone once told him that it's impossible to dream your own death- that's bullshit though, he knows- but that's what he does, anyway. He dies again and again in his dreams, in the hot lick of flames and the blinding flash of bombs, five bullets in his chest and five in his head, soil pouring into his mouth, choking him, and his bones crunching under the weight of fallen rocks. And he dreams of coming back, the return to life a thousand times more painful and difficult than the way to death, the sensation of life pressing sharp needles and jagged edges of broken glass into his skin, his eyes burning in the dark in the brief moment before he opens them and air floods his lungs like water. He knows how it feels to drown, and resurrection is, surprisingly, a little like drowning.

And then he dreams of Owen and Tosh, Owen's atoms disintegrated in radioactive liquid and the skin of Tosh's stomach marred by a distinct bullet hole, and wishes terribly, frighteningly that he could take their place, because he would come back. He would climb and claw his way back, back to his team, always, because that's where he's chosen to stay. And then there's New Year's Eve, 1999, _everything changes, Jack_, Alex and Estelle and Greg, and the Doctor and Rose, and so many other people, all loved and lost to him in some way. And then he's dancing in the TARDIS and letting go of his little brother's hand, and his best friend dies in front of his eyes and his father is lying motionless in the sand.

He jerks awake, sits up and there's a sick feeling all down his throat, down in his stomach, and he's so dizzy he doesn't know where he is, who he is, his name, what's his name? Jack. No, no, oh god- And then he heaves and throws up and everything's bitter and vile in his mouth, and his vision clears.

"Jack," he says, horrified, frozen.

And Jack looks at him, registering the situation. Ianto's bile is over half of Jack's bare chest and the sheets. "Ianto," Jack begins, touching Ianto's shoulder. His voice is blameless, not even shocked.

"Jack," Ianto repeats, shaking his head, scrambling away from Jack. "Shit. I'm so sorry, I didn't-" There are tears in his eyes and in his voice, and he tries to think of something better, anything. "I'll go get something to clean up."

"Ianto, no," Jack says firmly, still reaching out for Ianto, but Ianto is too far away now, pulling on trousers and buttoning his shirt wrong. "You're not okay, you just sit here and calm down first. Come back here."

Ianto's still shaking his head, one foot already on the ladder up. "I can't. I need to- I'm sorry." He pushes up, unsteady hands on the rungs, holding on hard because he's so afraid of falling off, backwards, down. Once he's out in Jack's office he heads in the direction of the cupboard where he keeps the cleaning supplies, but then his knees grow weak and he's about to collapse or maybe throw up again, and he can't do that. He needs fresh air. The air inside the Hub is stale, stiff, summer warm. So he runs for the invisible lift, punches the right buttons without even thinking, and rises up, up. Further away from Jack.

Jack.

He can't deal with Jack right now. Whenever he closes his eyes he can still see the dream, vivid like a movie in his mind, and he fancies he can even feel a very faint pain drumming in his flesh. Dying.

He's standing in front of the Millenium Centre now, and there's the wind whipping in his face, and he can breathe here, and the horrible feeling in his chest starts to dissolve. It's late, but there'll still be something open somewhere for him to get something to drink. He stumbles along the Plass, half expecting to look around and see Jack behind him anytime, but Jack doesn't show up. He thinks of the bile and shudders with guilt, but he really can't. He can't go back into the Hub, not right now.

He gets into his car and drives to a Tesco that he knows is open 24 hours, and as he stands in front of the drinks section, wavering between alcohol and caffeine, both familiarly tempting, he ends up getting something else entirely. Water. He just wants something clean, tasteless that'll slide easily down and wash away that hopelessness inside him. He lurks outside the store for a while after he's paid, sipping from the bottle and observing passerbys. Teenagers in hoods, businessmen who'd worked overtime. Laughing young couples coming out with six-packs of beer, drunkenness already slurring their voices.

Then he's finished his bottle and he dumps it in a bin and gets back into his car, drives back to his flat. He almost doesn't recognise the way and takes a wrong turn somewhere, but he gets there eventually. And as he pockets his keys and slams the door, a voice comes from behind him: "Ianto."

And he can't decide whether to sigh in relief or hide again, but he turns around and wobbles on his feet and leans right into Jack's tall, warm body. And Jack puts a hand on the back of Ianto's neck and it feels so effortless just to rest his forehead on Jack's shoulder. He's about to apologise again when Jack says, "Don't say sorry. It's okay. I've had more disgusting things happen to me than that. It wasn't your fault."

_Yes it was, because who else's fault could it have been?_ Ianto wants to say, but he bites back the words. Jack must have known, because he says, "Ianto, I- I looked in the archives and I think I found it. You saw what I was dreaming, didn't you? Well, the records are messy, but I noted it down myself- Maiveyd. They're dreamcatchers. In the real sense. Dreams are very important to their race, and they can create technology that helps them know what other people are dreaming. You must have touched that cube sometime."

Ianto stares at him, not quite comprehending or remembering at first, and then he does. "You said it was harmless," Ianto says, almost breaking into helpless, hysterical laughter at those memories of the time before, before _Lisa_. "I looked at the file and that's what you wrote."

"Well. It's harmless. Mostly. If you know how to control it, which I did. I had more psychic training than you, obviously, and. Well. At that time, I wasn't expecting anyone else to come along," Jack explains quietly. "But you did. How long ago?"

"It must be around two years ago," Ianto replies. "Before Lisa." The words come out brave, easy.

"Oh. That's... a long time. You must've seen my dreams before now, then. More than once. You probably don't even know," Jack says, smiling. "My dreams are usually better than this. It's just... everything's catching up with me, isn't it?" He inhales deeply and one of his hand finds Ianto's. "We'd better go back and find that cube and reverse it. I'm sure you've had enough." He turns, tugging on Ianto's hand.

"Wait," Ianto says, closing his eyes briefly. The images of the dreams are almost gone now and, awful as they are, Ianto's nearly regretful. He opens his eyes, looks down at their linked fingers, looks at Jack, and says, softly, "For a moment I understood."

Ianto almost expects Jack to laugh it off with some sort of comment like, _Yeah, you know how hard it is to be me now._ He isn't sure what he wants Jack to say. There are a few beats of uncomfortable silence between them as Ianto strokes Jack's thumb with his own, nervously trying to encourage a response.

"And that's a moment longer than what's right," Jack says at last, not unkindly, two thousand of years of trial mellowed in the softness of his voice in that one moment. He leans in, pressing his lips onto Ianto's, and Ianto is happy, even though he knows Jack will always remain a mystery now.

When Jack pulls away and heads towards the SUV that Ianto's just noticed is parked right next to his own car, Ianto goes with him. Gladly.

**The End**


End file.
